So my boyfriend and I were dreaming about how our first meeting would go and where it would take place and all the sudden I think this scene up.
It was MUCH too fun an idea to let go.
Without any further ado... I present Mot-Escapism's Coffee Shop Reunion!
Blake and I sat outside of the café, bundled in our winter coats, watching the stars twinkle above the tops of the buildings. Our breath would obscure our vision momentarily whenever we exhaled, then fade away into the night air. People walked idly by, speaking in their own languages—I caught snatches of German, French, Swedish, Italian, Portuguese, and Dutch. My heart pounded at the familiar sounds of Dutch; I would, after all, be seeing my Dutch boyfriend in person for the first time very soon. I had learned enough Dutch to speak to him comfortably, but I doubted I would be able to say a word once he arrived.
My friend nudged my knee with the toe of her combat boot. I looked at her, brow furrowed, irritated that she had torn me from my thoughts.
"Don't give me that look," she grinned sleepily, then nodded towards the teacup I was holding. "If you don't want your hot chocolate give it to me. No use in letting it get cold."
I snorted, cut into the doughy mix with my spoon, and licked it clean before passing the rest to her. "It's not like it will freeze out here: it's already naturally close to being rock-solid." I swallowed with some difficulty, having to try several times before the mouthful of pudding-like chocolate surrendered and slid down my throat. Throughout the evening I was reminded of a motivational poster that used to hang in my sixth grade English room some years ago of a heron and a half-swallowed frog; the frog's arms were sticking out of the heron's beak and had wrapped around its neck, strangling it. The bold Times New Roman lettering at the bottom of the poster said 'Never give up!'
It seemed the hot chocolate had the same motto as the half-swallowed frog.
Blake dug into the soft-solid drink with her own spoon, having no difficulty whatsoever. The cocoa was probably afraid of her and her almost-too-long-to-be-human cuspids. She seemed to have that effect on most things, living or non-living, which made her an excellent travel companion. Blake had the ability to frighten or charm anyone and anything to get her way. Including doughy hot-chocolate from Portugal.
Now that she was preoccupied, I retreated once more into my thoughts. I stared at the cobblestones beneath my feet, at the limestone buildings, at the gargoyles on their roofs, and finally up at the gathering clouds. Please, please, please don't let it rain, I prayed. If it rains, he might not be able to come to the cafe'.
She followed my scowl up to the sky. "Ooh," she crooned, eyes alight, "Looks like it might snow tonight!"
Oh, well, snow's alright then.
"What time is it?" I asked impatiently, shoving my blueish hands into my pockets.
She reached across the table and "raped" my discarded hat for my cell phone. "It's just after seven, hon. He should be here any second. And stop that," she snapped, for my foot had begun to tap of its own accord, "just calm down and be yourself. This is Joey we're talking about, not the pope, so no need to be nervous."
"Hah!" I snorted. "When meeting the pope, one doesn't have to fight for control of one's hormones. The pope is a crusty old man. When meeting one's boyfriend for the first time, one tends to have a tsunami rolling 'round inside one's pituitary gland."
She sighed, grinning again. "Alright, good point. But calm down a little."
"Easier said than done."
"Hmm," she said thoughtfully, eying the crowded interior of the café. "Do you think they give free refills?"
I glanced at the menu that hung over the counter, squinting. "I doubt it."
Blake's head whipped around to stare at someone behind me, but try as I might, I could not get any muscle in my body to move; all the sudden I felt like the tin man in need of a big can of oil. In the window's reflection, I could dimly see the outline of a person with dark clothes and hair, smiling at my reflection. My mouth fell open and I made a noise that (had I been made of tin) could have indicated my voice box was in need of a good lube job.
He laughed, and even my heart froze—something that indicated I wasn't made of tin.
I whirled around in the chair so fast I had to kick my legs out to keep from falling to the cobblestones below.
Standing there, not a foot away, was Joey Cheyenne Loth. My boyfriend. In person. Right here, right now.
"Reaction in five…four…" Blake began a countdown in a bored voice, but I barely heard her. I was focusing my attention on Joey, how his dark hair looked in the warm light from the café, "Three…" Oh, his eyes were twinkling—those beautiful green eyes! "Two…" He was smiling at me, finding the whole situation fairly amusing. How I love his smile! "One," she finished.
"Holy COW, Joey, is that you?" I gasped, scrambling to my feet, the words tumbling from my mouth all at once. "You're so tall in person, and you look tired, did you sleep on the train? I'll go get you some hot chocolate—you must be frozen solid—but the hot chocolate here is pretty thick, but it tastes really—"
Joey cut me off by pulling me into an embrace before my hand closed around the café's doorknob. He laughed a little, his laugh muffled by my scarf. I was suddenly hyper-aware of just how warm he was, how comfortable it was to hug him, and how very little I wanted to break free.
"In order," he chuckled, "Yes, it's me. I know I'm tall. I'm a little tired, and no, I did not sleep on the train. And hot chocolate sounds wonderful."
I overcame my shock and returned the embrace, burying my face in his jacket. I sighed with contentment.
"Right! I think I'll go back to the hotel for tonight, loves. It's a bit too cold for this Alabamian."
Joey broke the hug by a few inches and looked at Blake as though seeing her for the first time. "Oh, you must be Blake," he said, a warm smile on his face. I saw her blink a few times, momentarily flustered. I grinned. He continued, "It's nice to meet you. Emily talks of you often."
She beamed. "Yes, well, it's good to meet you as well, Joey." She stacked the empty tea cups, pulled her newsboy cap down over one eye, scraped the chair back so as to stand, and gathered the cups in her hands. "I'm gonna go return these things and get you two some fresh cocoa, then head back. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves. Joey, take my seat, I'm not sitting there anymore." She nudged the cafe's glass door open with her hip, leaving Joey and I to ourselves. Those lovely green eyes and lovely smile and lovely longish hair and lovely...
"You look lovely Emily."
Oh yes, we were made for each other.
Hey people! This is just a bit of a story I wrote up about my boyfriend and I. We still haven't met, unfortunately.
Read and Review!
And if you want it continued, I give you full permission to take the story into your own hands. That's what mot-escapism is all about: unfinished stories. ^^"